Thor: Ragnarok
by sheshachi
Summary: Asgard is changed, and the Nine Realms feel it. Enemies gather in the shadows, sharpening their knives while the Dynasty of Bor crumbles under its own weight. Meanwhile, an unknown enemy plays a long and devious game, calling out the Infinity Stones for his own gain. As his birthright is taken away and his people enslaved, can Thor rise to the challenge and stop Ragnarok itself?
1. The Realm of Fire

Surtur sat upon his throne on the dark side of the planet best known as Muspelheim and contemplated the creature chained up inside the cage hanging from the ceiling of his cavernous hall. It was beneath his dignity as Sovereign of the Fiery World to occupy himself with every foolish being to trespass upon his domain. Yet such trespassers were few and far between, and eternity does grow so very tedious.

Once he had sought to end this tedium – to drown the starways in flame and fury, to choke the very stars in smoke and ashes. The fire of his youth – now lost, almost beyond recall. When pressed, he recalled other things – the bridge of light and colours, the host of the heavens, the eternal flame. It pained Surtur to dwell on these things, and so he pushed them from his thoughts, choosing instead to attend to the present.

 _May as well have this done with,_ he thought as he gestured with his maimed and crippled left hand. The cage clanged open, the chains clattered loose and the captive fell from on high. It fell and it fell until the chains snapped taut and it jerked to a halt. There it dangled, spinning slowly as the chains swung with its weight.

Surtur felt a twitch of annoyance followed by a surge of outrage as he realized that he knew this one. It was the spawn of that twice-dead and thrice-cursed stripling, the upstart who styled himself _All-Father._ This one was the one they called-

"Thor Odinson," Surtur spat out, his voice echoing along the walls of his hall. The fingers of his right hand curled tightly over the hilt of his sword, lain against the side of his throne. It was cool to his touch, but it hummed awake as he did, its dull ember-red brightening to the orange of sunset, approaching the yellow of a young star. If the Odinspawn had been within its reach he might have lopped its limbs off then and there, but as it were, he would have to walk to it, and the thought of the wasted effort made him sigh and reconsider.

"Surtur!" The creature spoke with insolent familiarity as its dull sandy head turned toward him, "You're alive! I thought father had killed you, oh – what, half a million years ago?"

Surtur would have been angry, if he did not find the creature so pathetically amusing. _Not the brightest of Odin's brood._ "I cannot _be_ killed," he said slowly, considering how best to explain it to this – _child –_ that Surtur was not bound by the meaningless concepts like Time and Death that lesser beings such as Asgardians thought to be absolute facts. He settled for dramatic effect, continuing, "Not until I've fulfilled my prophesied destiny."

"Aaand what prophesy would that be?"

" _Of Ragnarok! Of the end of Asgard."_

"Is that your game, then?" the Odinspawn called out, "Is that why you've been calling to the Infinity Stones? Is it a power play?"

"I do not know what game it is you speak of, but your coming is the sign I have been waiting for," Surtur felt a fire within him the likes of which he had not felt in – _oh, what, half a million years? –_ and reveled in it, " _Once I unite my crown with the Eternal Flame, I shall grow larger than the tallest mountain, and I shall plunge my sword into -_ "

"Wait, wait," the Odinspawn had swung half around and was now facing away from the throne, jerking on its chain to swing back around. "I just - wait till I come around, I – It just feels strange, talking like this – in a moment –yes, go on, you were saying something about a crown? What crown? You have no crown."

" _THIS_ IS MY CROWN!" Surtur tapped on the huge old metal circle over his brows, extending to both sides like massive curling horns.

"Really? I thought they were just big eyebrows, or something. And once you have the Flame, you would grow larger than a – house, was it?"

" _Than a MOUNTAIN! And I will lay waste to Asgard, plunging my sword to its core -"_

"Wait, wait – not again – I swear, I'm not even moving, it's just doing this on its own."

Surtur watched the Asgardian make a fool of itself for several moments as it swung all the way around again. A ridiculous creature, draped in a bright red cloak, stained from the soot that passes for air in Muspelheim, yet unworn. Asgardian wear. Always shiny. "I shall _destroy_ Asgard, and fulfill my role in the prophesy," he finished as icily as befit the Sovereign of the Fiery World.

"No, you won't. The Eternal Flame is on Asgard, and Odin will stop you, just as he did before."

Surtur felt the ghost of a smile come upon his mouth. " _Odin is no longer on Asgard,"_ he spoke softly, "Could it truly be that you do not know?" He rose to his feet, hefting his sword. It was a greatsword made to his size, taller by far than the Odinspawn, clumsy and unwieldy in just one hand, but Surtur felt confident enough. He had watched this one battle the ancient darkness on the turning of the last cycle, but that battle had been won through deceit and trickery – _Like Sire, like spawn._ Besides, it was bound and unarmed. This would be no battle – only the Lord of Muspelheim executing a trespasser. And an affront to the _Allfather_ as well – _a fitting start to the end of Asgard._

"Even if you are right, you will never succeed. If Odin cannot do it, then _I_ shall put an end to you," the Odinspawn spoke calmly, its voice loud for something so small. Surtur never paused, descending the roughhewn steps that lead to his throne. He recalled briefly that once they were not so rough. Even his throne was once carved intricately, and the deformed pillars of his hall were once as straight and smooth as volcanic glass. "And how will you do that?" he said absently as he gazed around, his sword trailing sparks behind him as its tip dragged over the ground. Why were his halls so empty? Why was he not attended by hosts of subjects? Odin had been served thusly, he knew. He stopped in front of the dangling Asgardian.

"I'll think of something," the Asgardian looked up at him, right in his eyes. There was a crashing sound in the distance, magnified by the echoes. Surtur glanced down the hall. He sensed more than saw some great force approaching. He raised his sword high.

A glint of silver flashed toward the Asgardian, leaving a trail of broken columns of granite and obsidian behind it. It broke free just before the Hammer reached it. Surtur swung true, but the Odinspawn interposed its Hammer. Sparks and flames burst from their impact and Surtur staggered back. He knew that Hammer. The Thunderbringer, Anvil-crusher, Fire and Lightning made Stone.

"Mjolnir!" He growled as his host came to life, boiling out of the very stones surrounding them. They were made of the same igneous stone, harder than diamond, flecked with molten rock. They rushed toward the trespasser, swinging their stone cudgels and half-molten flails. Within seconds, the Asgardian was buried under a boiling river of living stone.

And then the Hammer swung and it was free, whirling the Anvil-crusher like a child's toy, shattering Surtur's warriors with every hit. It threw the Hammer and it flew through six of the stone beings before turning and tracing a wide circle around the Odinspawn, an unstoppable force carving a ring around its wielder that none could pass. Surtur roared and charged the ring, slashing down, but the Hammer returned to the Odinspawn a second too soon and his blade struck bare rock. He looked up to see the Asgardian rising high, the Hammer flashing with the power of the storm. It descended like a thunderbolt, releasing the power. It swept over the hall, dissipating Surtur's minions and pushing him back again.

Surtur was no fool. He knew it was over long before the Odinspawn deftly parried his backhand slash, using its momentum to propel itself to his head, delivering an earth-shattering blow to his crown. In those few moments, Surtur felt oddly at peace, assured of his destiny even as his very being crumbled under Mjolnir's assault.

 _I shall destroy Asgard, and fulfill my role in the prophesy._


	2. The Realms on Fire

_Odin was no longer on Asgard._

It started as a mere whisper, but it was not long before all were whispering it. Some said it with fear and doubt, others with hope and trepidation. From the forests of Vanaheim and the mountains of Nidavellir to the alleys and crevices of Jotunheim and the dunes of Svartalheim. From Muspelheim to Niflheim, all heard the whispers; all but the Asgardians themselves, and perhaps the ignorant lot of Midgard, who had forgotten the gods long ago.

 _Odin was no longer on Asgard._

The Jotuns were the first to turn the whispers into shouts. Defeated and broken, still they raised their tattered banners high, and when none opposed them, they found that their arms still had the old strength, their mind still raged with the arcane cold. The Marauders were on the prowl, raiding the outposts of the Alfar and the Vanir. The disenfranchised ran to their banners. The dark elves of Svartalfheim in particular swelled their ranks. Soon they were flying the red flag of Malekith beside the motley banners of the Marauders of old. Yet Asgard lifted not a finger.

 _Odin was no longer on Asgard._

Yitri stood now on the battlements of the Main Forge, gazing out over the city walls at the Trolls camped beyond. He had prayed day and night for Asgard's assistance, yet the sky remained clear, but for the smoke rising from the Trolls' bonfires. For millennia, the dwarves had dedicated their celestial forges to making enchanted weapons and armors for Asgard, and Asgard had defended them in turn. Now the Trolls were at their gates, and Asgard refused to come. The dwarves were ill-equipped to fend for themselves. They had fought bravely, but the enemy outnumbered them ten to one, and their aerial defenses failed after the first two weeks. The Trolls had outfitted their huge, ponderous barges to rain stone and fire down on the city and it was all they could do just to keep the massive Uru-forged gates closed. At least the walls would hold. Blessed by Odin himself, these walls would last till the end of time, even if the dwarves within turned to dust and ashes.

The Trolls were gathering near the southern gate, preparing for a renewed assault. Yitri signaled his folk to fortify the southern defenses, knowing that if the Trolls had been smart enough to mount a second assault, there was nothing he could have done to stop them. _Where are the Einherjjar?_ He asked the skies, _Where was Odin?_

 _Odin was no longer on Asgard._

Shaking the ill-omened thought from his head, Yirtri headed down into the undercrofts, hurrying through the lower forges and past the hall of steel into the tunnels, winding and turning as they went, bustling with freshly-drafted soldiers. There were entire warrens filled with women and children seeking shelter from the bombardment. Yitri muttered a few meaningless words to comfort those who looked up at his approach. Most were beyond that. He exited the tunnels at the foot of the southern forge and made his way around and up the structure until he was on top of the chimney tower.

"Report!" he shouted at the lieutenant-in-charge, Svitri, his own cousin.

"It's not good, Yitri. The Trolls are holding back, as if waiting for reinforcements. They're all well-equipped with fire-spears and garbed in refractive armor. I've never seen such a troop before."

Svitri had never seen any troop but the Einherjar before, but Yitri recognized the Trolls' new equipment. "Svartalf fire-spears," he gritted through his teeth, "Jotun ice-plate. By Odin's beard, it is a grand conspiracy!" He turned to Svitri and said, "Pull the men back to the inner walls, the outer will hold against all the fire they can throw. Unless they have a few of the Svartalf Kursed as well, they won't breach."

A cry of dismay drew his attention to the outer walls. A huge Troll was approaching the wall now. The dwarven arrows bounced off his massive frame. Except it was no Troll. Whatever it was, the creature was more than thrice the height of Yitri and with a bulk to match. He carried no weapon and wore no armor but spiked spaulders on his left shoulder and bracers on his right hand. He stopped right at the feet of the wall and the Trolls backed away.

 _What is he doing?_ Yitri stepped forward against his better judgment and peered down.

The creature's muscles rippled as he drew his massive fist back, then slammed it into the wall. The blow made the earth below Yitri's feet shake, but the wall held. _That wall cannot be breached,_ Yitri assured himself. But the creature struck again, and Yitri could see the enchantments ripple across the wall for miles. _Just another foolish Troll ploy. The walls have stood for millennia. They will stand for eternity to come, unbreached._ The monster struck again, and Yitri heard the rare yet unmistakable _crack_ of shattering Uru.

Yitri began to pray out loud for Odin's deliverance, but he knew it was useless.

 _Odin was no longer on Asgard._


	3. Gatekeeper

The sun rose from behind Mount Austri, its light spilling over miles and miles of water and forest before touching upon the city of Asgard, setting the myriad metal spires ablaze with red-gold hues. The sunlight hit the Tall Tower first, despite its being the third tallest of Valhalla's 23 towers, and worked its way down. Skurge was awake and alert before it entered his quarter. He finished donning his armor and strode down to the Palace Guards' barracks. He was pleased to find his men in full gear and dispatched them to relieve the nightwatchmen at their posts. On his way out, he spotted Hogun of the Warriors Three across the courtyard and walked over to him.

Hogun gave him a cool look before returning to tinkering with his mace. _This one will never respect me._ Skurge saluted him: he may outrank the Vanir now, but Hogun had been commander of the fifth legion for years and Skurge had always admired his stoic nobility. "Big day ahead, hmm?"

Hogun looked up and held his gaze for a long moment before saying, "It is not so different from other days."

"Yes, but the Einherjaren will have their hands full, won't they? What with the festivities and visiting dignitaries and..." Skurge trailed off as Hogun gave him the cold shoulder. _Right._ He decided to cut his losses and move on.

As he walked down the stairs to the stables, he realized he was more insulted than he'd thought. It wasn't as though he expected the Warriors Three to bow to him, but they could at least allow him basic courtesy. He was, after all, captain of the Palace Guards. He'd only wanted to offer his help, since the Palace Guard were not expected to participate in the proceedings of the day beyond guarding the Allfather as he met with ambassadors and overseers. But if Hogun didn't want his help, Skurge certainly wouldn't impose.

He found his steed saddled and bridled, needing only to climb on and set off toward the rainbow bridge. The best part of working for Valhalla was that he no longer had to deal with the mundane aspects of a soldier's life, like grooming his horse or cleaning his armor, though he preferred to do the latter regardless. Life as a mercenary had its charms, but it couldn't compare to this.

 _No one respects a sellsword._

The ride to Himinbjorg took several minutes. The high road cut straight through the city and across the rainbow bridge, but it was still several miles away from the palace. All around he could see the preparations for Loki's Day. Skurge remembered when Loki was declared a traitor and arrested by his own brother for warmongering in Midgard. The Allfather had publicly disowned him. Then he died, and the Allfather built a statue of him right in the middle of the Plaza of Valor. _Royals,_ Skurge mused, _Go figure._ Personally Skurge failed to see the point. Why disown the prince over a little rabble-rousing? And then to bring him back into the fold as a hero so suddenly showed a weakness Skurge would never have believed Odin to possess.

 _You owe your job to that weakness,_ he reminded himself. _And who are you to judge?_

With the shimmering crystal of the rainbow bridge under the hooves of his steed, Skurge could now see Himinbjorg growing ahead. As a young man, Skurge had marveled at the carved dome of Bifrost as his battalion was being led to Jotunheim. The new fortress was much bigger. The Bifrost chamber was hidden behind a squat golden keep. Two swirling towers flanked the stairs going up to the keep proper and another two, broader towers flanked the keep's entry. In Heimdall's time, the Bifrost rarely had more than two guards, but Skurge had assigned twenty of his best men to Himinbjorg. He was no Heimdall, and he refused to be caught off-guard. If a threat arose, his men would hold it off and signal for reinforcement. _And hopefully Hogun would send backup before they die._

The men snapped to attention as they saw him approaching. One of the sentries took hold of his lead as he dismounted and lead the horse away into the tiny stable built along the last few yards of the rainbow bridge. He nodded to the men as he passed, each one a familiar face. The Allfather had given him leave to pick his own men for the Palace Guard and Skurge had surrounded himself with trusted brothers-at-arms who had served beside him in the Marauders' War. _I owed them that much, at least._ In Valhalla, they were united by more than their shared battlefield experiences - they were also united by the disdain they got from the Einherjaren and the Warriors Three. Two guards at each door, including the entrance to the Bifrost chamber, each in gleaming black armor. Skurge had looked forward to wearing the golden armor of the Einherjaren when he was selected to be in the Palace Guard, but the Allfather decreed that their uniform would be different and designed the night-black plate with the horned helmet himself. Another of his eccentricities that Skurge couldn't make sense of. After all, he had kept his own golden armor unchanged, so why surround himself with men in black? Odin was losing it in his old age, the soldiers muttered in their cups. Many looked forward to Prince Thor's ascent. Others said darkly that the crown prince had refused to be crowned and left for Midgard. Skurge kept his opinions to himself. No sense making enemies. _Follow the orders._ _Protect the royalty. Keep your damn mouth shut._

The hours passed tediously. A delegation from Alfheim arrived early on, and then it was nothing but standing and waiting. Anyone seeking entry to Asgard would need only ask, and the summoner would flash, signalling him to unlock the Bifrost with Hofund, the Gatekeeper's sword. Luckily, Heimdall had not taken it with him when he disappeared. He had, however, taken his all-seeing eyes and left Skurge with no way to know what was on the other side of the Bifrost, hence the added security. Skurge had argued with the Allfather that he should be at his side all day today, but Odin had refused, stating that he was needed more to screen the arrivals. _And how am I to do that?_ This would have been a task fit for Hogun and his fifth legion, not Skurge and twenty good men.

The image of the sun rolling across the sky-like roof had crossed the zenith when Skurge decided to take a break. His lunch was brought to him and he sat down on the steps to eat. He was half-finished when Ulric said, "Captain, the summoner."

Skurge turned around to see the crystal flashing and jumped to his feet. Tossing the food as far into a corner as he could, he picked up Hofund and hurriedly drove it into the controls, hearing the familiar _click_ as the Bifrost hummed to life; the rune circles aligning all around him as lightning arced between the power crystals and the keel honed in on the source of the summons. With a _whoosh_ the Bifrost opened, a brilliant tunnel of light stretching away into infinity. A familiar figure rushed out from it at full speed.

Skurge barely managed to avoid the crown prince as he shot past Hofund and landed on the far side of the chamber. "Look out!" the prince bellowed, just before Skurge was hit by something huge from behind and was flattened on the floor. Some kind of scalding hot slime covered his back and he couldn't help a startled cry. He scrambled out from under the weight and pushed himself to his feet. "What-"

The severed head of a fire dragon lay across the middle of the chamber. The guards stood dumbfounded with their spears lowered, unsure if they should call for help or advance. Skurge waved them back. The crown prince's scarlet cloak was marked by soot and burned at the edges. Clearly, he had just escaped the fiery world of Muspelheim.

"My Prince," he tried to sound official, but he was still covered in dragonblood, "We had not known of your coming."

"Neither had I, friend," Thor's smile was a grand thing, disarming and charming all at once,"But who are you? I had expected to speak to Heimdall immediately."

"Heimdall is - not here, my prince. I am Skurge, captain of the palace guards, standing in his place."

"I see," the prince's smile faded as he surveyed the black armors and spied the towers beyond the entry. As he turned, Skurge noticed he was carrying a dull grey horned helm on his back, far too big for any Asgardian. "And what of my father? Where has he gone?"

"The Allfather is overseeing Loki's Day, my prince. He will be most glad to hear of your return."

"Loki's Day?" Thor turned to look Skurge in the eyes, an intense, piercing look, much like his father's. "Of course," he said softly, in a way that suggested the words weren't directed at Skurge. And then his smile returned and he clapped Skurge's shoulderplate. "You, my friend, have just single-handedly slain a firewyrm from Muspelheim. Granted, you wielded the power of the Bifrost, but still, the singers will sing of you for years to come. Now keep up the good work, good man, and keep the bridge closed for me," Thor flipped his hammer, the mighty Mjolnir, and as he strode out of the Bifrost chamber, he growled, "I would have words with _the Allfather."_

Sensing trouble, Skurge vaulted over the dragon head, handed Hofund to Ulric and hurried after the prince. He was at the top of the stairs out of Himinbjorg when Thor twirled his hammer and shot into the air, straight toward the city. He would be at Valhalla in less than a minute at that speed. Skurge ran for the stables, praying to Odin that he would still have his job come nightfall.


	4. Loki's Day

It was Loki's Day and Asgard had draped itself in greens and golds to celebrate their fallen prince, the tragic hero who gave his life to save the crown prince and protect the realms. Misunderstood and spurned in life, he was respected at last in death. All of Asgard mourned him, and ambassadors had arrived from all the realms (with the exception of Jotunheim, but who needs them?) to pay their respects. They laid gifts to his monument in the plaza of valor in the morning, praised him before the Allfather in the midday feast and would shed tears for him at the ceremony after nightfall. But for now, they gathered around the Allfather, trying their best to seem properly devastated as each vied to outdo the others in catching his ear.

Loki ignored them all, focusing on the play unfolding before him. He had written it himself, and if the actors were somewhat lacking, that couldn't be helped. It was a beautiful rendition of the Second War of Light, specifically the sacrifice of Prince Loki to save his well-meaning, if slow-witted brother Thor from the monstrous Kurse, unleashed by the villainous Malekith of Svartalfheim. It had become a favorite of the people since it premiered on the first Loki's Day celebration and always drew a large crowd. Loki hadn't dared to visit the performances openly the last two times, but this year, with the palace guard, he'd felt safe to make an appearance. If Heimdall wanted to ambush him, he'd have to get through the Executioner's handpicked men first.

"NOOO!" the straw-haired brute who was an unexpectedly adequate stand-in for Thor certainly knew how to be hammy. Loki leaned forward as "Thor" rushed to the fallen "Loki" (an all-too-generic interpretation of the _brilliant_ screenplay) and mumbled foolish platitudes. "I shall tell father what you did here," "Thor" spoke with more emotion than the real Thor could ever muster.

" _I didn't do it for him,_ " Loki whispered. The audience gasped and 'aww'ed. There were screams, even. Loki managed a sad smile. That's what Odin would have done. Smiled at his death. But there was something in his eyes. He didn't even notice the big blonde in blue-gray armor and a red cape until he was standing right in front of him.

"Father!" Thor's familiar voice boomed above the crowd's muttering, "It is truly good to see you out and about. I'd never have thought it possible."

Loki composed himself quickly. This was an unexpected turn of events. Thor was not to return so soon, and on this day, of all days. "Yes," he managed to maintain Odin's wheezy growl, "I thought I owed him that much."

Thor followed his eyes to the statue of Loki behind the stage, beside the statue of Frigga. "Four years now," Thor's manner was somber as he turned back, "He died a hero." Then he stepped closer, with an odd twinkle in his eyes. "I am glad to see you've kept his memory alive, father. This is exactly what Loki would've wanted. Indeed," he locked those electric blue eyes straight into Loki's, "It's as if he's right here with me, his eyes alive with some new mischief."

Loki decided to move the conversation to a more comfortable location. He stood up and clapped his hands on Thor's broad shoulders. "It brings true joy to this old heart to see you again after so long, my son. Let us retire to the palace. There is much to discuss." With that, he turned with a swish of his robes and headed toward the palace.

"You were not forewarned of my arrival, then?" Thor quickly stepped to his side, "Where is Heimdall?"

"Heimdall... resigned."

" _Resigned?"_

 _"_ He... wanted a break. To travel. See the universe, as it were."

"There seem to be quite a few more guards about you these days, father. Should I be concerned?"

"It never hurts to be cautious. There are dark forces afoot, son. Enemies at all hands."

"Indeed," Thor stepped in front of him, blocking his path. They were halfway up the steps to the plaza of victory. The palace guard fanned out around them, ten Asgardians in gleaming black plate, their helms adorned with curved horns at the crest. The crowd had gathered at the bottom of the stairs to watch the two of them.

"End this game now, Loki," Thor's voice had grown grim and stern, like the calm before a storm, with a hint of Odin's growl.

"Loki? You are mistaken, Thor. I have changed, but I am still myself," Loki never averted his gaze.

"So be it."

Thor grasped him by the neck and turned him around, twirling and throwing his hammer out over the courtyard, all in one fluid motion. The crowd's heads snapped to follow the silver blur. Within seconds it was over two miles out. And then it stopped.

"Nothing can stop Mjolnir from returning to my hand, father. You would know that, of course; you were its first wielder. You can simply catch it, can't you?"

Loki struggled to get free, but he was no match for Thor's strength. His guards were worse than useless. Unsure what to do, they simply stood there, gawking as the hammer picked up speed, now little over a mile away. It would go clean through him, Loki knew, and even if Thor meant not to kill him, it would still hurt like hell. With each passing moment, his disguise grew weaker. The real Odin would simply have blown Thor away by now.

" _ENOUGH!"_ Loki yelled, dropping the glamour. Thor released him as his form shimmered and twisted, his long black hair growing out, his body thinning and growing taller. He twisted aside just as the hammer blurred past his ears, ruffling his hair. Loki tripped and fell onto his knees.

The crowd gasped. The diplomats looked like they wanted nothing more than to melt away. Loki could not blame them. Looking up, he cast his brother the most scathing look he could muster.

"Hello, brother," Thor actually smirked, "You're looking much better than the last time I saw you."


	5. An Old Man in Pain

Every breath was a labor. Every step was a struggle. Odin had spent the entire week indoors because he simply couldn't summon the strength to go out. But he climbed down the stairs today without any help and walked out into the sun.

The little garden was coming along quite nicely, considering the loose, stony soil. Of course, he may have nudged it along, a little persuasion to grow and spread. Odin had always loved growing things. Villi was always giving him trouble about it, but he didn't mind. And Ve always had his back, too. No one gave him trouble now. No one had his back, either.

A sharp pain, like a stab between the ribs. _You can't ignore me forever._

Laufey had stabbed him once, in a place not so far from here. The Frost Giants were formidable then, with the Casket of Fimbulwinter on their side. He had cut through a dozen of Asgard's finest to get to Odin. Whatever else he was, Laufey was a great warrior. He didn't deserve this fate. Killed by his own progeny…

 _You grow weaker every second._

Odin closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When he opened his eyes again, his pain had vanished. But it would return. It always returned.

 _Allfather._

It was a familiar thought pattern. It brought to mind a golden armor. A golden sword. Eyes of gold.

 _Speak, Heimdall._

 _The prince has returned to Asgard. He knows of Loki's game._

 _Good, good. Return to your post, Heimdall. Thor will have need of you._

 _Yes, Allfather. Should I send him to you?_

 _Can you?_

A pause. _No. I sense you are on Midgard, but I still cannot see you._

Odin smiled. _Frigga would have been proud, boy._

 _He will find me,_ Odin thought to himself as he let Heimdall's consciousness drift away. A lesser being would, perhaps, pray for deliverance. But gods did not pray.

All Odin could do now was hope.


	6. Night Gathers

Loki's Day was at an end, and night gathered on the horizon. It had been a long day, full of surprises and mishaps, and Skurge keenly felt the need to finish his long-overdue breakfast. He had been dismissed from Himinbjorg, and the palace guard had been recalled to Valhalla. It was not as bad as it could have been, but Skurge suspected that might come later. Come what may, he would face it with a full stomach. Those were the words of Volstagg the Voluminous, spoken between mouthfuls of ham. There was some wisdom to it, and Skurge welcomed the respite after the day's events.

A young guard intercepted him at the foot of the stairs leading up to his chamber. He wasn't one of Skurge's. He wore the green cloak and golden armor of an einherjar. "Captain, what should I do with this?" he asked.

Skurge recognised the dull grey horned helm in the guard's hands. It was the one he'd seen slung across the prince's back in the morning. Felt like ages ago. "Where did you get this?"

"Prince Thor gave it to me. At the play. Before he spoke to the Al- I mean, before he spoke to Loki."

"And you've been carrying it around all day?"

The guard looked embarrassed. "I didn't know who to ask," he said in a low voice.

Skurge looked him over. "New here?"

"It's my first day, sir."

"You picked a fine day to join the einherjar, boy," Skurge sighed. He looked around for someone to accompany the boy to the treasury, but the corridor was deserted. He'd given most of the palace guard the night off, considering there were no royals in the palace. Skurge thought about the warm meal and soft bed waiting for him upstairs. Then he thought of the severed dragon head and the soot on the prince's cloak.

"All right, I'll show you the way to the treasury. Try not to fall behind."

They walked in silence, Skurge leading the boy through nearly a dozen turns and down two flights of stairs before reaching the gate of Odin's Vault. Three einherjar stood on either side and the door itself was barred with three thick poles of uru placed across it. The guards saluted Skurge. Skurge nodded.

"Open the gate," he ordered. The guards hesitated. "What is it?"

"We were told to keep the treasury under lockdown until the prince returned," one of the guards explained.

"I won't be taking anything. Prince Thor himself wanted this stored."

The guards lifted the poles, one at each end. The door shimmered as the poles were removed, forming myriad interlocking patterns ringed with runes. The mark of Odin appeared at the center for a brief moment before the door melted away, leaving an opening large enough to fly a skiff through. Beyond it lay the Vault. Skurge walked in, trailed by the young guard. Skurge was halfway down the narrow bridge over the void before he realised that the boy had fallen behind. He looked back to find the young soldier staring up. There was nothing above but an ever-rising walls of a well that disappeared into the shadows above. Skurge had himself wondered where, exactly, the Vault was located - surely something so large could hardly fit under the Palace. But this was not the time for architectural musings. He coughed loudly, breaking the soldier's daze. He hurried after him with a sheepish look on his face.

"What's your name, boy?" Skurge asked when he caught up.

"Siddgeir, sir."

"Good name. I had a shield-brother, name of Siddgeir. We fought shoulder-to-shoulder on Vanaheim."

"I hope to prove myself worthy of the name in battle, sir."

 _Not likely._ For all his troubles, Siddgeir didn't even get a proper funeral. The battalion had had to flee when the Marauders' airships appeared and their fallen had been abandoned as dead weight. Skurge had even lost the letter Siddgeir had given him, to deliver to his family. He'd been too ashamed even to seek them out.

Skurge walked the rest of the way to the treasure vault in silence, passing under three gates topped with lofty towers dwarfed by the oppressive vastness of the Vault. Several guards nodded to him. Most remained as impassive as the golden statues arrayed in the throne room. Siddgeir's pace faltered before a display case with one of the royal armours propped up. It was certainly impressive: quite possibly the very one worn by Odin during the wars of conquest. But Skurge had seen it before, when the Allfather brought him down here.

 _Loki. The Trickster, Not the Allfather._

"Come on, now," he called to the guard, "We have to put the helm all the way at the back."

"Yes, of course," the guard hurried after him. They passed the large atrium where the weapons and armours of fallen enemies were arranged into a massive, rising spiral that seemed to stretch upwards forever, with spears and swords of all shapes and sizes pointing out like deadly thorns on a creeping vine. there were corridors leading away on both sides, but Skurge pressed on ahead until they reached the final vault. It was sealed with a silver-gold valknut across the door, much smaller than the one outside.

Skurge placed his hand at the center of the valknut. The metal glowed under his palm. The glow spread through the grooves of the design and the door melted away, just like the outer one. The chamber beyond was much less brightly lit than the outside, no more than a soft golden glow rising from below and small islands of light around raised pedestals containing the greatest treasures of Asgard. "At the back," Skurge spoke in hushed tones, as if afraid to disturb the artifacts, "There should be a few empty stands."

The guard walked gingerly, looking around at the treasures on display. "Is that... _the Casket?_ "

Skurge nodded silently, then nudged the guard forward. They strode past the Infinity Gauntlet and the Eternal Flame, even a replica of Mjolnir and Gungnir. The innermost parts of the vault were empty, but for a larger-than-life armour rack on a raised platform. There were several empty pedestals in front of it.

"Put it over there," he pointed to a pedestal.

The guard did as he was told, but stopped to stare at the rack on his way down. "What are those? They don't look familiar."

Skurge glanced at the blinking lights on the contraption stored in the empty case originally meant for The Destroyer. "They're new," he said curtly, "Let's go."

The walk out was quick, and Skurge dismissed the guard once they left the treasury. Walking back, he reflected on how unusual his position in the palace was. Within a few years, he had risen from a nobody to a man with access to the innermost chambers of Valhalla's treasure vaults. He had thought it was just some quirk of the old king, that he should put so much faith on an outsider. Sometimes he had wondered whether the Allfather did not trust those who were closest to him. After all, he had been betrayed by one he had called son. Other times he had deluded himself into thinking he had earned it, that his merits deserved such honour.

But now he realised he had been nothing but the trickster's errand boy. All those trips to midgard, collecting human trinkets, setting them up in the treasury. What was it all for? _I will show it all to the prince,_ Skurge decided, _I will not help Loki plot any further mischief._

His short and meteoric rise through the palace was at an end, of course. He would be dismissed, most likely, or maybe relegated to a small role. Even that was unlikely. _They all think of me as Loki's catspaw._ How ironic that it should be the Trickster who raised Skurge out of anonymity, and that the return of the rightful heir should cast him back onto the streets.

It was no good, thinking this way. Skurge was not a helpless fool. He still had the strength in his back and the skill in his arms. There was always work for men such as him. But it would be a blow to his father. The old man had grown quite fond of their new life. Skurge dreaded having to break news of Loki's latest treachery to the hard-liner. _Perhaps somebody else already had._ The thought was both relieving and distressing. Skurge gazed out of an enormous window facing the city, wondering if he should simply go home.

His vision blurred and shifted and suddenly he was staring at a vast landscape of mountains and distant forests and fog. Startled, he looked around, only to find himself standing on the edge of a cliff with a massive arch behind him, tall enough for half of Valhalla's towers to fit under it. He quickly stepped away from the edge. "What-"

 _Open your eyes and stand fast, Skurge Skavinson. Asgard stands on a precipice far more treacherous than this, and it is up to you to save it._

Skurge swung his head around wildly, but there was no one else in sight. But somehow, he knew that voice, though he had never before heard its owner speak.

 _You cannot see me: it is through my eyes that you see all that is before you._

"Heimdall," Skurge said, trying to sound calm. The fugitive sentinel was a far greater force than anything Skurge ever hoped to face, and he had been on the run from Loki for nearly two years, now. "Show yourself."

Heimdall chuckled. It was an eerie sensation, hearing a voice in his head _chuckle_. _There is no time for banter, Skavinson. There is danger coming. Enemies of Asgard, united and emboldened by the Allfather's absence._

"Why are you telling me all this? I command no legions, and I am no friend of yours."

 _Are you not a friend of Asgard?_

Skurge couldn't find a response to that.

 _I see all, Skavinson. I have seen to the end of the universe and beyond, often through the veil of time itself. I have seen you, leading men of Asgard against those who would destroy it._

Skurge couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You must be mistaken," he said to the wind, "And if that is what your golden eyes show you, then I doubt there is any reason to what you speak."

 _So be it._

Skurge's vision blurred again and he was forced to turn, the images swirling and rushing past the edge of his vision as if he were flying on a skiff, only faster. Finally, he stopped at the edge of Asgard, peering across the branches of Yggdrasil. And there, under the roots of the World Tree, he saw a host of warriors, arrayed as if for battle. But these were unlike any warriors Skurge had seen before: gaunt, hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed, with emaciated limbs, rusty armour and tattered cloaks. It was an army of dead men - the army of death itself, advancing on Asgard at its most vulnurable.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the vision ended. Skurge lay panting, flat on his back on a deserted corridor in Valhalla, before an enormous window facing the city.

Staggering to his feet, Skurge set off down the corridor in a brisk trot. Soon he broke into full sprint. Somehow, he knew he had to get to Himinbjorg: that was all that mattered.

 _Perform your duty, Gatekeeper. Death is coming for Asgard._

 ** _P.S._** This story started out in my head as a simple retelling of the 2017 movie with more focus on characters like Skurge and Surtur. In fact, it all started with an image of a confused, senile Surtur whiling away the time until his lonely, broken existence could finally end. But then I delved into Simonson's run and came up with dozens of new ideas (which aren't all consistent with one another.). Now, this story is bound to suffer multiple rewrites and severe writer's block. If anybody is actually following the story (the overview says I have 4 followers now :3 ), I apologize for any confusion or delay. If you have any complaints or suggestions, please let me know! Feedback is always appreciated :D


	7. Up Ye Olde Londinium

Once upon a time, the place was a bog at the edge of civilization, a day's walk from the nearest town. Now it was only an hour's drive from the heart of London, and all the worse for it. Yet no one noticed the burst of rainbow-coloured wind as it carved a complex circular pattern on the rooftop of the old apartment building. The colours drifted into wisps of shimmering smoke before fading away, revealing two tall, powerfully built men. The thuggish blond on the left with shoulders like an American u-haul truck and zero fashion sense was Thor, the God of Thunder. The lean, lithe man with sleek black hair and an impeccable black blazer (over a deep green silk shirt that brought out the colour of his eyes) was Loki, God of Mischief and technically still Allfather of the Nine Realms.

"Unhand me, you brute," Loki tried to jerk away, but Thor's fingers were like bands of Uru around his arm, "I am no common criminal to be handled thus."

"You are a traitor and a usurper, and the self-styled God of Mischief to boot," Thor surveyed their surroundings, as if expecting an ambush.

Loki rolled his eyes. Even if he _had_ planned an ambush, Thor could hardly have spotted it like that. "Will you stop that? There's no trap. How would there be a trap? You think if I'd known you were coming I'd have been lounging around watching plays?"

"Perhaps that was simply a ploy to get me alone and off-guard in Midgard, where your catspaws might find it easier to dispatch of me," Thor punctuated his suspicions with a smile that made it clear what he thought of that. "Perhaps you would then return to Asgard and pretend to be me. Isn't that how you operate?"

"Operate?" Loki pulled at his sleeve. To his surprise, Thor let him go. Rubbing his hand, he looked at the god he'd once called brother. "You speak like a Midgardian now."

"I have learned much in my time here."

"Oh, I am sure. The rustic ways of the backwater savages. Perhaps they have helped you get in touch with your _spirit animal_. But what have they taught you of the managing of an empire?" Loki smiled mockingly, " _The Crown Prince who refused his crown._ A fine jest."

"And you thought to remedy my refusal with your usurpation, is that the way of it?" Thor stepped forward, his jaw hardening, "You could not be king, so you would tarnish the good name of Allfather-"

" _I was a better Allfather than Odin ever was!"_ The words tumbled out before Loki could put a cynical twist on them. "I gave the realm peace and prosperity, whereas you would have left it to burn while you _played_ at heroics with your mortal pets and played _house_ with your mortal _bed warmer_ ; while Odin-"

Thor cut him off by seizing him by the jaw and lifting him off the ground. "Do not. Speak. Of Jane. Loki." He dropped him and turned away. Loki rubbed his jaw. It seemed the wench was far more of a sore spot than he'd suspected. It might be useful, if he needed to make a hasty escape.

" _Peace and prosperity,"_ Thor's voice was low and filled with bitterness as Loki had never heard before, "Do you know from whence I came to find you, guised as father, bedecked in silk and jewels as he never was?"

"Muspelheim, wasn't it? Your clothes were all burned up," Loki felt uneasy at Thor's tone. "And I must say, Odin forbade any soul of the Nine Realms to seek out the Fiery Realm, so you're not much for obedience, either, are you? And how _did_ you get there? I'd have known if you'd come to Asgard."

"I went searching for answers. Much was amiss, and I sensed a larger game was afoot," Thor continued as if Loki had been silent, "All I found was death. Death and devastation." He turned with his whole body to look at Loki. It was an impressive motion. " _Billions_ dead. More made homeless. And where were the armies of Asgard?"

Loki stared at him incredulously. "What madness is this? If anything like that happened anywhere in the Nine Realms, I'd have personally led the legions to destroy the perpetrators."

Thor's electric blue eyes bored into his uncomfortably, but he held the gaze. "It was not within the Nine Realms. It was on the edge of Kree Space. An entire star cluster, home to seven species."

"Well, how am _I_ responsible for _that?"_

" _Are you not listening, brother!?"_ Thor seized Loki by the lapels and shook him bodily, _"_ The stars had been made into portals out of Muspelheim. Surtur was staging an invasion into Midgardian Space, and _you knew nothing of it!"_

 _Surtur was staging an invasion._ The words sent a chill down Loki's spine. Odin had regaled him and Thor both with the horrifying tales of Surtur, King of the Fire Demons. Frigga had always considered them inappropriate for children. Secretly, Loki had agreed. In his tenure as Allfather, he'd dug up quite a lot of lore that Odin had not seen fit to regale them with, and they confirmed his fear that the tales he'd told them were, in fact, children's versions of the truth. "I-I didn't know," he said foolishly, then added quickly, "But if you've defeated him then he couldn't've all that bad, now, could he?"

"Father would have known. _You_ would have known, if you had not antagonized the all-seeing eye of Asgard. What madness seized you, Loki, that you would seek to rule without Heimdall?"

"Well, I could hardly rule with Heimdall," The wretch had found him out in less than two months.

"And what reason is there for drawing all of Asgard's armies into the Golden Realm itself? One would think you were girding for war, and yet the Marauders pillage unchecked and at every hand, a new rebellion rises. What were you _thinking?"_

Loki hesitated, then cleared his throat. "If you must know, I was not lying when I said there were dark forces afoot. I was simply doing what was necessary to defend Asgard."

"Against whom? Heimdall? Lady sif and the Warriors Three? Me?"

Loki stared at his well-meaning, simple-minded brother. How could he grasp the scope of his fears? If Loki did not guard the Realm against the enemy, all would be ruined. But he could hardly do that now without bringing Thor into the fold. "Have you never wondered," he began, "From whence came the army I'd unleashed upon your Midgardian friends?"

"The Chitauri?" Thor narrowed his eyes, "They could never threaten Asgard."

"No, not the Chitauri," Loki couldn't suppress a manic grin. "I speak of the one who threatened _them." "Who commands the would-be king?" Thor had asked him on that clifftop that night. If only he knew._ Even now Loki dared not speak his name out loud. _"_ I speak of _the Mad Titan_."

Thor looked at him for a long moment. Then he said, " _Who?"_

Loki rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You've never heard of the Mad Titan?"

"I… may have heard mention of him, once or twice."

Loki threw up his hands. "Let us simply find Odin and be done with this. Then you can execute me or lock me up or exile me to Svartalfheim or whatever it is you fancy. Or whatever _he_ fancies, I suppose," Loki paused for a second, then added, "Most likely exile in Jotunheim."

For a second or two Thor seemed to be on the verge of pursuing the previous conversation, but he seemed to decide against it. "Very well," he boomed, "Is father in London, then?"

"I placed him in a mortal facility in Greenwich. They are well-versed in tending the elderly."

Thor shot him a scathing look. "An old home? You put our father, Odin Allfather, King of Asgard and Protector of the Nine Realms, in an asylum for the infirm?"

"Your father," Loki shot reflexively, deriving great satisfaction from seeing Thor wince. "And he was certainly infirm when I put him there."

Thor's uru grip returned behind Loki's neck. "If you have harmed him-"

"I haven't touched a hair on his head, Odinson," Loki rolled back his head to look Thor in the eye, "The old fool was wasting away in grief and weariness. He was far past his prime, you know this as well as I. And when you rejected him-"

"Do not try and blame me for this, Loki. Whatever happens now, it's on you," Thor began to twirl his hammer, making the wind fly into Loki's hair and whip it across his face, "To Greenwich it is."


	8. Uprising

Corvus glaive arrived over Svartalfheim on a little transport ship painted in various shades of black. The vessel was far smaller than his own, but what it lacked in bulk and strength it made up for in speed. Corvus was used to running mysterious errands for his master, but this latest campaign was proving obdurately taxing. His travels over the last turn or so had taken him all the way across the known universe several times – and several locations which were clearly not even part of the universe as he knew it. He had not spoken to his wife in all that time. But he had been assured that the trials were almost at an end, and glorious rewards awaited him. Less than 36 hours ago, he had received word from Black Dwarf. Only one piece of the Master's tapestry remained unwoven, and Corvus was proud to know that he had been entrusted with such an important task.

"We are here, Lord," the outrider reported subserviently. Corvus dismissed it with a nod and began to dress himself. The air of Svartalfheim was toxic to all but the Svartalves themselves, and while Corvus did not fear death, he was not anxious to suffer without need. His garments covered every surface of his body except his face and the inside of his palms. Over that he wore his chestplate, greaves and vambraces. He placed his three-pronged golden crown over his head before wrapping himself in a pitch-black cloak. He picked up his glaive on his way out. He didn't expect battle, but Corvus Glaive had appearances to maintain as the representative of his master.

The surface of Svartalfheim was little more than a desert, with dunes of fine, grey sand stretching out in all directions. In the distance, Corvus spied the jagged peaks of some mountain. His employees were laboring somewhere at the base of that mountain even now. Their work was to be finished by the next turn of the planet's moon. And if they were found lagging, he would see to their encouragement. _A dozen executions, maybe. No, there weren't enough workers left. Perhaps just three._

The outriders were arrayed around his transport, a sleek silver-grey mass of metal that suggested nothing more than a place to sit and a direction to face, and even that was merely a hint. Corvus mounted the vehicle and placed a hand on the flat stretch right in front of him. Small nodes of blue appeared around his fingertips while a dim yellow glow spread out from within the mount. As it shot forward, the outriders vanished into little more than blurs – but these blurs kept pace with Corvus as he left a plume of sand in his wake.

The deep crevice which the Svartalves had chosen for their workshops was surrounded by uneven stone. It was impossible to land any ship other than their own, columnar Arks in the vicinity. It was also an active volcanic vent – one of the last of its kind on the planet – ideal for high quality metalwork, and other arts which only the Svartalves knew the secrets to. Corvus had not bothered to find out, though he had instructed the outriders to keep records. Whatever those secrets were, they had allowed the dark elves to invade the fabled realm of Asgard undetected, and that was what the Master, and by extension, Corvus, was most interested in. The last of the Svartalf Smithmasters had assured him that the property could be applied to any ship, given time and resources, and so Corvus had arranged for the resources and slaves to cut down on the time factor. It was truly an ingenious ploy.

Krogan was the Marauder in charge of the workers. Corvus found him lounging on an outcrop leaning over the forges. He jumped down as Corvus dismounted. The troll shambled along the footpath and bowed deeply. "Lord Glaive," his eyes shifted apprehensively as the outriders shimmered in and out of visibility around them, "The work is progressing splendidly. Only a few ships left, and Wormwood promises to start work on two of them this very day."

"More than two?" Corvus barked, "Just how many are these 'few' ships left?"

Krogan flinched and fixed his gaze on the ground. "Four, Lord Glaive. But two of them are small, and will take at most three days each to finish, and –"

Corvus walked past the stuttering troll. He considered killing him as an example. The Marauders were proving difficult to trust and their lack of discipline made them unsuitable even for serious grunt work. Corvus wondered whether the might of Asgard was really all it was made up to be if such wretches could prove such obstinate foes to their armies. But four dead captains – if that was what one could call the chief of a band of Marauders – had not motivated the Marauders to reinvent themselves, and each new chief was only another oaf to be trained into some semblance of usefulness. Corvus almost sighed. No, Krogan was best left alive for the final phase of the work. _Perhaps he could be killed at the end of the work. The Master would not approve of killing merely out of spite, but surely he wouldn't care for a single troll._

Wormwood the Smithmaster was bent over a large Anvil – that was what the Svartalves called their Molecular Manipulators – and sweeping his hand across an array of blue holoscreens with red symbols blinking and flashing rapidly. His pale fingers traced streaks of white energy as they moved. Before him, Corvus could see an oblong object, its extremities still swirling in a semi-liquid form, being rearranged in miniscule details. Corvus chose to wait for the Smithmaster to finish. No telling what he might be shaping, and Corvus could appreciate the work of a true master craftsman.

Wormwood had been a pleasant surprise, and was Corvus' proudest achievement on this campaign. The Smithmaster had been aboard the Lady of the Night and had survived Malekith's last battle. The Asgardians evidently did not realize what he was, else it was unlikely that they would've allowed him exile on Svartalfheim with the rest of the survivors. Wormwood had offered his services without solicitation, eager to strike back against the power of Asgard. Corvus painted him a picture of an Asgard broken, humbled and burning, and the Smithmaster jumped to provide the torch. He and his Svartalf assistants oversaw the conversion process that was meant to render the Marauder fleet invisible to the eyes of Asgard, and it was on his insistence that Corvus had shown up a week earlier than he had meant to.

"Corvus of the Glaive," Wormwood's voice had a nasal quality to it, and he insisted on addressing Corvus by name, though honestly, Corvus didn't care. It showed a lack of respect, but Wormwood was millions of years old and had been directly involved in the making of the Aether, so Corvus was willing to let it slide so long as he got results. "It is _good_ you are here. I could have resolved this _myself_ , but I felt your _authority_ would add some _gravitas_ to the task." He gave a final flourish over the Anvil and then tapped a sequence on the holoscreens. The object before him slowly descended onto the surface of the Anvil, glowing slightly.

"What task did you have in mind, Wormwood?" Corvus asked, slightly irritated. The dark elf's strange accent always irked him.

Wormwood turned to face him, lowering his mask. He had once been a paunchy elf, though the hardships of life as a dark elf had drained his girth, leaving loose skin hanging from his cheeks and jowls. His eyes were rimmed with red, the unhealthy pink of a rash. He was dressed in the standard full-body covering apparel of the Svartalf soldiers, minus the bone white armour and with specialized gauntlets. "I've developed a new kind of weapon, a variation of the singularity grenade. I can apply it to the ships, but I'll need more time."

"A ship-mounted singularity generator?" the idea was so stupendously awesome that Corvus actually considered delaying the project, for a few brief moments at least. Then reality ensued as he remembered the Master's instructions. "No, no, no more delays. Perhaps after the fall of Asgard."

"Come now, Corvus, surely you cannot be in more hurry than me to see Asgard burn," Wormwood protested, "Besides, this would only make it that much easier to destroy any defenses they may have erected since we last attacked their city."

"Our forces are strong enough already. You need only cloak us so that we may strike unseen, Wormwood," Corvus declared.

"Many would die needlessly. It would only take a month or so-"

"ENOUGH!" Corvus barked. Outriders appeared all around Wormwood, some with blades drawn. "Do not presume upon my patience, elf. You have your task, as I have mine. Do not overstep your bounds."

Wormwood relented, palms up in surrender. "I meant only to help," he said, backing away, "Of course you must do as is your wont. As must I."

The object behind him jumped up from the Anvil, spinning wildly. The outriders turned to look at it. Wormwood knelt. Corvus sensed the danger and knelt as well, but it was too late.

The singularity imploded into existence, devouring the Anvil in a fraction of a second. Its pull was felt almost instantly, and the outriders blurred out of sight as they were sucked into oblivion. There was an eldritch noise, like an explosion in reverse. Corvus planted the butt of his glaive firmly into the stony soil and held on for dear life as the pull of the singularity ripped his armour away and tore at his clothes. For a second or two, Corvus thought he wouldn't make it.

But the singularity lost power and blinked out of existence. Corvus sagged as the irresistible pull vanished.

"Now!"

Dark elves in full gear sprang out of the rocks behind the remains of the Anvil, firing on Wormwood's command. Their masked faces betrayed no emotions as the blood-red bolts from their blasters ripped right through Corvus Glaive's body, exposing his milky-white flesh. They continued to fire until the body stopped twitching. At that point it was little more than a pile of charred flesh. The only thing left was Corvus' glaive and the fingers still curled around it.

Wormwood prodded the dead thing with his feet. Through his mask, he could see that it had ceased to be alive. "Did you really think I wouldn't know what you and your 'master' were planning?" he said to it, "Did you forget I was there when the One was first made into the Six?" His followers gathered round for a closer look. "There are still some outriders out there," he said to them, "We have to deal with them quickly. The Marauders will join the winning side, and we can still take on Asgard."

The soldiers spread out, switching on their cloaking devices. Wormwood sighed as he surveyed the destruction the singularity had caused. Would he ever be able to build another Anvil? It was one very much like the Anvil he just destroyed that was used to make the container for the Aether. It could be remade, if only he could get the Aether back. Corvus said it was not on Asgard, but he might have lied. Besides, if he could just get a single Ark flying again, he could find it, no matter where it might be. But of course, there was the matter of repairing an Ark without an Anvil. Shaking his head, Wormwood followed the soldiers. He could hear distant blasts already. Hopefully, they wouldn't suffer too many casualties. There just weren't enough of them left.

The carvings along the length of the glaive shimmered as the tissue reformed around it. Bones grew out of nothing. Tendons and sinews sprang into existence, followed by muscles and nerves and blood vessels. Milky white skin oozed into being, stretched taut at first, but slowly molding to the rest of the body. Corvus Glaive stood on his own feet again, leaning a little on his weapon. He should have expected the dark elves to turn on him, but he'd trusted the outriders to protect him. It shouldn't've been possible to do what Wormwood did. He was standing closer to the singularity than Corvus, and yet he'd simply walked away, not a shred of fabric missing from his midnight cloak. _Well, I suppose you don't become Smithmaster for collecting bottle caps._

Corvus picked up a shredded cloak and wrapped it around his body. In the grand scheme of things, this was but a minor setback. The combined Svartalf-Marauder fleet would still descend unseen on the Golden Realm, and the Master's plan would unfold perfectly – give or take a few dozen outriders. Still, it would be prudent to leave the planet unseen. Corvus was pleased to find that his mount had been left untouched.


	9. Reunion

Odin awoke feeling fresher than he had felt in years. Sleep was not exactly new to him, but he was doing it far more frequently now than he did on Asgard. At first he had pretended to sleep each night, so as not to alarm the Midgardians. That was before he'd realized that people of his age were not, in fact, expected to sleep all that much. But lately sleep came more and more naturally. It was peaceful, but the Brother of Villi was not unaware of the implications. Death was creeping closer and closer. But the Ruler of the Slain was not one to wallow in such worries. He had learned to enjoy waking up every morning, made all the more precious by the knowledge that one of these days, perhaps, he would not.

Today was different, of course. Frail as he was, the One-Eyed One was still a god, and the future was not as opaque to him as it was to others. He spent the morning gossiping with Doris and Matilda, making them blush with his war stories. He had to change the names and dates and places, of course, but the Master of Spears had become well enough versed in contemporary Midgardian history to do so effortlessly, and it was not for naught that he had been called the Delight of Frigga. The thought of her still brought a stab of sorrow, but it was no longer as overwhelming as it used to be, and it was certainly better than the other stabs he felt every now and then. He went on to play several hands with Joshua and Reggie and Matthews, all three veterans of Dunkirk, a battlefield somewhere south of here. They, of course, thought the Father of Songs was full of it, but they humored him nevertheless. The God of Runes knew a charm that let him make friends of the most implacable enemies, did he not?

For lunch, the Son of Bor ate a boiled vegetable salad and a thick chicken soup. He'd worked up quite the appetite, working on his little garden, but was soon feeling rather full. He was restless through the afternoon's ritual of gathering around the television and kept sneaking out to the balcony and staring at the sky. It was a dull, cloudy grey now, so much unlike the bright blue of the morning. Little old Jennifer followed him out on the fourth visit to the balcony.

"Everything alright, Ethan?" Loki's little joke was to enter his name as Ethan Branson. Odin hadn't had the heart to correct the poor Midgardians. He looked down from the sky and said distractedly, "My son was supposed to visit today."

"Your son? I've never seen him here before."

"Yes, well, he is a rather busy one," the Son of Bestla smiled. He knew the corner of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and he knew it made people feel better just to see it.

"Yes, they do that, don't they?" Jennifer took his arm and led him to a lawn chair. "I haven't seen my little Jenny in two years now, can you believe it? She'd be 12 now, I reckon. Or was it 13?"

"Your daughter comes to visit every month," it was simply a statement.

"She never brings the little ones, though. What was the name of the tot? Harry – no, Henry, I think," Jennifer sighed and sank into her chair, shrinking under the weight of her years. Odin Mimir's-friend stared at her for a few moments. Through her he could see her people – James Connors, who'd died when his plane crashed into the Atlantic, his son, Kevin, working as a junior scribe in a large advocating agency; Barbara Brigham, the overworked single mother of two, Jenny and Harry Brigham, bright children with fair hair and grey eyes. There was danger in their future. A shadow lay not only across their lives, but across all of Midgard, and they were none the wiser.

Wisdom was a terrible burden. Jenny and Harry and Kevin would live their lives oblivious of the threat, and when it came, they would be swept away before the tide before they ever heard the surf. But the Gallows-god was not to be given such comfort. He knew it was coming – the twilight of the gods, the end of all good things, _Ragnarok –_ and there was nothing he could do about it. But the Raven-tester was not so easily dismayed. All things must die, but death needn't be the end. Perhaps he would leave a legacy yet. His eye spotted a blur passing across the clouds. It landed beyond the trees surrounding the compound.

The Odinsons had arrived.

Odin was waiting expectantly in the common room when Loki walked in, followed closely by Thor. Heads turned as they made their way across the room. Odin raised his eyebrow at their Midgardian guises – Thor with the leather jacket and jeans, Loki in the tailored silk suit. "You are late," he said, turning his eye from the one to the other, "I have been expecting you."

"I came as soon as I was sure of Asgard's safety, father," Thor pulled out a chair and sat down. The chair creaked dangerously under his weight. Loki remained standing. Thor shot him a sideways scowl and said lowly, "Loki will pay for his treachery, this I assure you."

Odin waved a hand magnanimously. "None of that matters now."

"Indeed," Thor straightened in his chair, prompting more creaks, "We will leave as soon as you are ready, father. The realms will rejoice to see their liege returned."

"I won't be going back to Asgard, Thor."

Thor looked at him incredulously. Then he turned and snapped, "Loki, if you do not remove your spell, I shall-"

"No, Thor," Odin said soothingly, then added to Loki, "I broke your spell nearly a year ago. It was well done, boy. Frigga would have been proud."

Loki blinked, trying to hide his reaction, like always. _He is more like me than he will ever know, much less admit._ "Life on Midgard has its appeal," Odin continued, "I see now why it brought so profound a change in you so very quickly. We of Asgard measure our lives in Cycles – the turning of the universe itself about the trunk of great Yggdrasil. Yet in little more than two such cycles, the humans of Midgard have gone from mud hovels and foraging to _skyscrapers_ and _microwaving._ Life moves fast here – as it should. A thing isn't beautiful because it lasts," he paused, looking at the faces of his sons, waiting for them to understand.

Loki got there first. It was fascinating, watching his carefully sculpted composure darken in confusion, then make way for disbelief, break into shock and then relapse into studied calm. Thor was not so subtle as that.

"You cannot mean what I think you mean," Thor nearly stood up, "Tell me I misunderstand, father."

"It is my time, Son. I can hear your mother calling to me."

"No," Thor whispered. "No, no," he held Odin's wrinkled hand in his own, paused as he reflected on their weakness, then looked into his eye. "The realms need you, father. _I_ need you. Surtur-"

"I felt the seal on Muspelheim break," Odin mused, "It is a sign of Ragnarok, Thor, as is my passing. No, no, do not grieve for me; I am _old,_ older than even you could understand, my son, and death is but an old friend. No, you must be strong now, stronger than ever before, to shoulder the burden I am leaving you. Forgive me, Thor, that I could not be a better father."

"No," Thor's voice broke and he looked at his feet for a moment, "You were a great father. It was I who defied and frustrated you. I failed you, both as son and subject, and for that I am sorry." Thor lowered his head on Odin's hand. Odin placed his other on his head in consolation.

"For what it's worth," Loki broke in, "I fear I made a terrible mistake in banishing you. In my defense, I truly believed it would help you cope with your grief. Had I known the future, I should not have done what I did."

Thor looked up, his eyes filled with angry tears. " _You!_ It was not enough that you tried to murder me and my friends and enslave those under my protection, but you _had to_ usurp our father as well! Were it not for you-"

"Enough, Thor, Loki," Odin grimaced as another stab of pain shot out from inside him. "Do not blame yourselves or each other. As I have said, it is my time," he closed his eyes and took deep breaths to bury the pain. "There are more important matters to discuss now. Matters of state. Matters of life and death."

Thor turned to Odin again and took his hand in his own, his eyes pleading. "Father, please," he implored, "We can discuss all of it back on Asgard, after the healers have looked at you. Whatever happens, surely you would wish to return to the Golden Realm."

Odin looked at his son and sighed. "I am afraid, Thor, that it will no longer be possible for me to return to Asgard. Besides, there is nothing on Asgard that I need anymore. No, I wish to spend my last moments here, in peace, with my sons."


	10. Father and Son

Loki couldn't believe what he was hearing. But unlike Thor, the wheels were turning at the back of his head. Nobody seemed to know just how old Odin really was, but it was well-known that he needed to enter the Odinsleep once every turn or so. It was not inconceivable that being on Midgard for so very long would strain whatever mechanism kept him hale and hearty on Asgard. That would mean, of course, that Thor was right and he _was_ the one to blame for Odin's current state. Loki didn't know how to feel about that. Should he be feeling guilty, for inadvertently causing the death of the man he'd once thought the universe of and had learned to despise?

"Come, my sons," Odin was saying. Funny, that. He still called him son. Loki was unsure how he felt about that, as well. The room around them grew bright with a golden glow before dissolving away. The three of them were standing in front of a fountain, sitting on simple metal benches. There were no humans around. Odin probably preferred the privacy.

Thor looked around and grimaced. "Save your strength, father. There was no need for that."

"Please, Thor, I am not so weak as that," Odin chuckled, "Besides, I like this place. I often come here to feed the pigeons. I have not been able to contact my ravens," he shot a sideways glance at Loki. Loki averted his gaze. Hugin and Munnin were locked up in the First Tower, under heavy enchantments to counteract Odin's own and to prevent their escape. Loki was not concerned about what they might tell Odin, as much as what Odin might tell them. Of course, in hindsight, that had been rather redundant, what with Heimdall turning against him and all.

Odin continued, "But I have found other means to gather information. You must listen now, Thor, and even you, Loki. No more fighting. No more of this petty feud." _Now that was bloody unlikely._ "Asgard is in grave danger, and I'm afraid it is all my fault." Thor moved to object but Odin waved him down, "No, listen. I was a fool, to think that this day would never come. So long as I remained in Asgard, my powers were replenished by the Odinsleep, and I fooled myself into believing that it would remain that way for all eternity. But now I must pass on, and it is up to you to try and repair what I have broken."

"No, Thor, I do not speak of the disarray caused by Loki, though that will certainly need repairing," Odin pre-empted Thor, "No, I speak of a far older mistake, one for which I can blame none but myself." Odin grew even more somber than usual and asked, "Tell me, Thor, Loki, what do you know of the founding of Asgard?"

"It was your father, Bor, who united the Realms against the elves of Svartalfheim," Thor said, frowning, "And after the war, Asgard gained supremacy over all the realms."

Odin smiled and looked expectantly at Loki.

"Asgard conquered the Nine Realms," Loki began slowly, unsure where this was going, "It was Bor who started it, but Asgard gained the height of its power under your rule. You brought peace to the realms, humbling the Jotuns and the Trolls, and established the current order."

Odin shook his head slightly with an amused smile. "Oh, how I have failed you, my sons. So much I have kept from you, that there is not enough time now to explain." He closed his eyes and shuddered as if in pain. Thor exchanged a worried look with Loki.

"I shall tell you the essentials," Odin continued, "Thor, you are not my firstborn."

Loki wondered if the old fool had truly gone senile. _If Thor was not the firstborn, then why did you favor his tomfoolery all these years?!_ He wanted to scream, but he felt that now was not the time. _There may not be another time._ All the same, he kept quiet.

"You have an elder sister. Her name was – is – Hela."

"She lives?" Even Thor caught this problem at its root. If this Odinsdottyr lived, then he was no longer the rightful heir to Odin. _There may be a selfish side to you still, Thor._

"She does. I banished her, long ago, but she lives still, yes."

"Why?" Thor said. Loki assumed he meant why she was banished, though the real question, as far as he was concerned, was why she still lived.

"She was violent. Impulsive. Hungry for war." _Like brother, like sister, then. "_ She tried to usurp me. I had hoped that banishment would humble her, but it only made her more dangerous. So I hid her: from my people, from my family."

" _How many more of us 'secrets' do you have locked away in your closet?"_ the words were out before Loki could stop himself. "Is that your solution to everything? Throw away and hide anything that makes you uncomfortable?"

Thor shot him a warning glare, but Odin only smiled. "What would you have me say, Loki?" he said quietly, "That I was wrong? That I wronged her, as I wronged you? That I regret the way I raised you? I will not say those things. I am an old fool who didn't learn from his mistakes and I have many, many regrets. But you are not one of them."

" _Sentiment,"_ Loki spat venomously, "that is all you have to offer, old man. Platitudes and rhetoric. If I am not a mistake, then why did you deny me? You threw me in your dungeon and never even came to visit. You couldn't even _look me in the face!"_

"Then was I to condone your actions, Loki? Welcome you back with arms wide open? Would that have satisfied you? The enemy you fight is within you, Loki. I am already vanquished; you will gain nothing from me that you cannot give yourself."

Loki turned away, shaking with rage. Thor put a hand on his shoulder, but he shook him off and walked away. Odin was still speaking, but Loki drowned out his voice. He couldn't take this anymore. In death, the old man was taking away everything he represented to him. He was denying him his right. His right to make him suffer, his right to watch him eke out a debased, humiliating existence. And he had no right to take that away. Suddenly, Loki was filled with indignant fury. He wanted to break something. But nothing could be as satisfying as breaking the Allfather himself. So he turned on his heels and faced him.

"Enough of this," he declared, "I am still Allfather, and your life is not yours to forfeit. I am taking you back to Asgard, and then-"

Odin was gone, nothing more than wisps of golden light to mark his passing. Thor was on his knees, staring at the spot where he was.

"He is gone," Thor's voice was as cold as a winter storm, as deep as thunder in the mountains, "The Allfather is dead."

The world seemed to have turned grey. Loki dimly registered that Thor was probably causing thunderclouds to gather above them, but it was somehow more fitting to imagine that Odin's passing had robbed the universe of its colours, somehow. Odin who shaped Yggdrasil, who painted the rainbow bridge across canvas of the sky itself.

And there was a sharp screeching sound that came from behind. It was as if someone was running steel-tipped nails over the blackboard of the cosmos. Loki turned in time to see the dark green ripple seal itself. There was a woman standing in front of where it had opened. She had long, wild black hair and was dressed in black from neck to toe, with silver highlights.

" _Finally,"_ she had a deep, sultry voice, " _I thought he'd_ never _die."_


	11. Firstborn

Hela took measure of the two standing in front of the spot where Odin's essence still lingered, like the stench left behind by a corpse long after the ravens were done with it. Though in Odin's case, perhaps an entire battlefield would have been a better analogy. Regardless, the reactions of the two young men made it plain that they were both Asgardians. Yet they were not on Asgard. _Curious._

"Did he suffer?" she addressed the lean, black-haired one.

"He passed in peace, as befit the Allfather," the big blonde answered, rising to his feet. His movement suggested a warrior's upbringing, and there was an enchantment about the umbrella clutched in his large fist. Hela frowned, annoyed at his presumptuousness. "You will speak when you are spoken to, boy. And you would have done better to remain on your knees."

"Hela Odinsdottyr, I presume," said the other one. He had the careful, even tones of a courtier. _Odin's attendants._ Perhaps the blonde one was a general, and the black-haired one a trusted minister. Hela decided to direct all her words at him.

"I am the firstborn of Odin, his right hand and Executioner in the Wars of Conquest," Hela drew herself up as regally as she could, though she felt weak in the knees. She needed to return to Asgard, and soon. She could not afford to appear weak now. "And now I am Queen of Asgard and all the realms of Yggdrasil."

The two Asgardians stood staring like witless trolls. Hela was losing her patience. "Kneel before your queen!" she demanded.

"The Allfather did not name you his heir," the blonde one said.

"And who are you," Hela stepped forward past the minister, flicking her right hand and grasping the cool hilt of a wickedly curved dagger, "That the _Allfather_ would discuss succession with _you?"_

"I am Thor Odinson," the blonde declared, slamming his umbrella into the ground. A bolt of lightning descended from the clouds and engulfed him. The clap of thunder echoed back and forth across the surrounding foliage. As the lightning receded, he emerged in full armour, enameled with Odin's discs and a resplendent crimson cloak.

"Odinson?" Hela chuckled, "You don't look much like him." She flexed her fingers and the dagger morphed into a broadsword with a hilt as long as her arm. "Nevertheless," she pointed the sword at Thor, "I am your elder, and you will yield to me."

Thor raised his right hand and hefted his weapon. Hela's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in indignation. "I see Odin gave you my hammer," she said.

"Please," the minister spoke quietly, "Perhaps we can reach an understanding."

Hela looked at him with renewed interest. " _You_ sound like my dearly departed father. Tell me, who are you, then?"

"I am Loki," he answered carefully.

"Odinson," Thor said loudly, "He is my brother."

"Oh?" Hela shifted her stance to keep them both in her sight. Her position was getting rather uncomfortable. "How interesting. So are you also in league with our ham-fisted brother to usurp my throne?"

Loki smiled and raised his hands in peace. "As you can see, I am not in the running for succession. I just don't want to see siblings spilling blood before – our father's pyre."

"Then you are with me, for I am the rightful heir," Hela flicked her eyes from Loki to Thor, who seemed to be growing more hostile with every passing moment.

"You were banished for warmongering, _sister,_ " Thor growled, "And I see you haven't changed your ways."

"And who is it that threatens their liege with upraised weapon?" Hela countered.

"I'll not have you sully Odin's legacy!"

The park on which they stood was positively dark now, with black clouds blocking out the sun overhead and thunder rumbling in their bellies. Mjolnir flashed with sparks. This was tantamount to treason, but Hela could not yet enter Asgard without the Bifrost, and she was uncertain whether it would respond to her. It would not do to show incompetence before these two. Thor was clearly loyal to Odin, and she did not trust the feigned courtesy on Loki's face. _Decisive action is the only path to victory. Strike first, and strike hard._ Hela extended her left hand and another blade appeared, thinner and longer than the first.

Thor threw Mjolnir at the speed of lightning.

Hela cursed and swept her blades around. Unwieldy as they were, she just barely managed to sweep the hammer aside, feeling its weight in her arms. Stepping forward quickly, she exchanged the broadsword for a shorter leaf-shaped blade and lunged at Thor. Thor avoided her thrust with the longsword and blocked the second by grabbing her wrist. He tried to maneuver her into a grapple but she placed her foot on his chest and kicked him away. Mjolnir flew back into his hand and she followed it, flicking her hands for two identical blades with heavy crossguards. Thor swung the hammer but she checked him mid-swing and bore down on him. He managed to redirect her momentum and threw her above his head, but she landed lightly and threw both blades at him, their forms rippling as they turned into javelins mid-air. He deflected both.

Hela was enjoying herself, her blood pumping as it had not in over a cycle. She seemed to be getting stronger. While it was no Asgard, perhaps this place – Midgard, she assumed – would replenish her as well. She swept her hand in the air and conjured a long spear with a heavy blade. If she could get past Thor's guard, she could kill him. But then he began to twirl his hammer, creating a vortex around himself and calling down lightning. It struck randomly all around. Hela had to sidestep quickly to avoid one such bolt. This was a troublesome development. She flexed all her fingers to conjure eight throwing knives and threw them all at once at the center of the vortex. They were all deflected and scattered every which way.

There was a scream. Hela shot a cursory glance to see that a Midgardian was cowering behind some sort of metal box which had been pierced by two of the daggers. There were several others like her, crouching and hiding behind the fences enclosing parts of the foliage.

"ENOUGH!" Thor boomed in a voice like thunder. The vortex ceased and dust clouds spread out from it. "There is no need for our subjects to suffer needlessly. We shall settle our differences on Asgard."

Hela lowered her hands, though she remained on guard. She was not entirely certain of this idea, but she knew she could not wait to see Asgard again. "Very well," she said.

"Perhaps it would be better to settle the 'differences' first?" Loki appeared beside Thor. He was now dressed in Asgardian finery; a green robe under a black rider's armour gilded in gold and a horned helm above his brow. "We wouldn't want to present a divided front to the people of Asgard," he looked at Thor as he spoke.

"Too many bystanders here, Loki," Thor said unhappily, then added, looking at Hela, "Besides, you are my sister. This I cannot deny."

Hela didn't say anything, though she did incline her head, just a fraction of an inch.

Thor raised Mjolnir to the sky. The clouds were already dispersing. The colours of the rainbow coalesced into being straight above their heads. "Open the bridge!" Thor called out.

It was just as Hela remembered it. The bridge engulfed them and they flew through it. The colours shot past them, mixing and separating in all hues. It seemed only seconds passed before the shape of Asgard loomed ahead and then they were there.

Hela could feel the power surging into her as she stepped into the Bifrost chamber. It had been more austere in her time, but there was no mistaking the thrum of energy as it swirled around the dome. She breathed in the air, heavy with the scent of magic, with a hint of all the things she had loved as a little girl. " _Oh, I have missed this,_ " she said, her lips curling in an involuntary smile.

After millennia in banishment, Hela was home again.


	12. Odinsdottyr

Skurge was completely out of breath when he reached the foot of Himinbjorg. In his haste, he hadn't even bothered to take a horse from the stables and was now regretting it. He staggered up the stairs, breathing heavily, without really knowing what he was doing. It wasn't as though the Bifrost could be used to defend from an army of dead men. And now that he _really_ thought about it, the entire concept seemed rather foolish. _Why did I even think it was possible?_

Because of the vision. Not only the sight of it. He could still hear their rattling gasps, their putrid stench. _Or was that just the memories of Vanaheim?_ Skurge shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. Either way, no one could threaten Asgard so long as the Bifrost was secure. Maybe that was why he had run here so impulsively.

The guards atop the stairs barred his path with their spears. "What is this?" he wished he weren't panting like a street dog, "I am the Gatekeeper. You work for me!"

"Apologies, Captain. The prince ordered us to keep the Bifrost sealed," the guard hesitated before adding, "And you were ordered to secure the Palace."

"The Palace needs no more security," Skurge had expected this, but he couldn't leave now, not after what he had seen. _What Heimdall had shown._ "Who is to operate the Bifrost, then?"

"The chamber has been assigned to Lady Sif, Lord Volstagg and Captain Fandral."

Skurge felt himself deflating. The Warriors Three had been all but exiled during Loki's reign, and it had been easy for Skurge to fool himself into thinking he was irreplaceable. And with the three of them in the Bifrost chamber, Skurge couldn't imagine what he'd be contributing to its defense. He took a step back and was about to turn back when a commotion spilled out from within. A guard stepped out of the wide inner gate. Except he was walking backward and had a gleaming black blade sticking out of his back.

Skurge watched, stunned, as the guard wavered and toppled. The blade vanished as he fell and his blood gushed out in gouts. The guards at the outer gate lowered their spears and formed a semi-circle around the gate, facing inward.

" _Now you see what happens when you stand in my way, brother. I trust you shall keep the smallfolk out of my path in the future."_

She stepped over the dead guard and walked down the corridor, stopping at the outer gate to look at the assembled guards. "A welcoming party?" she smiled mockingly. She flicked her hands and two curved blades appeared out of thin air.

"Identify yourself, you who would seek passage into Asgard," Skurge fell back on protocol to hide the quaver in his voice. The woman radiated lethality and was clearly beyond him. Yet until the prince dismissed him, he remained Gatekeeper, and he would not abandon this post.

She appraised him coolly, one eyebrow raised. Finally, she answered, in a loud, booming voice, "I am Hela, firstborn of Odin, heir to the throne and commander of Asgard's legions," pausing for a moment she added, "I am your queen."

Skurge wasn't sure how to react. He had never heard of any Hela Odinsdottyr, but it seemed too audacious a claim to be false. Not to mention, she made a very good argument with the dead guard behind her. On the other hand, she could not be queen unless the Allfather were dead, and that raised a lot of uncomfortable questions.

Hela was evidently waiting for him to respond, and the guards were obviously awaiting his cue. Skurge was spared the need to make a decision then and there by the appearance of the prince himself. "Hela!" he roared. She turned to face him. "What madness is this?" he asked angrily, waving his hammer at the body on the floor.

"Calm down, brother. The smallfolk are watching," Hela said dismissively, then made as if to turn back, but Thor grabbed her shoulder. "You will answer for this," he said darkly.

Hela grasped Thor's wrist and moved it away. "I am your queen," she said in a low voice. Skurge was certain the guards could not hear them. "You are a murderer," Thor growled, but kept his voice down. Then they both turned as if to look at something behind them that Skurge could not see. Then they both relaxed, though both remained tense. Hela said something to Thor, and Thor made an angry retort. Skurge couldn't hear what was being said. Then Hela made her way down the steps, followed by Thor. The guards stepped back uncertainly. Thor waved them aside. He made as if he were Hela's warden, but Hela moved as though she were leading him. As they passed before Skurge, Hela gestured him forward.

"Join us in the throne room," she said. Thor shot him a look that said otherwise. Skurge made no move as they disappeared down the rainbow bridge.

Four more figures emerged out of Himinbjorg. First there was Loki, with Lady Sif guarding him, shooting him warning glares every step or two. They were followed by the massive bulk of Volstagg the Voluminous, leaning on the shoulder of Fandral the Dashing.

"Are you hurt, my Lord?" Skurge asked, stepping up to help. Fandral gave him a cool look, but Volstagg beamed widely and boomed, "'Tis but a scratch, oh yes – get a roast boar and a dozen horns of ale in me and I'll be right as ever, har!" He winced at the last syllable and gripped his side in pain. Skurge offered his shoulder and together they loaded him onto the only wagon in the Himinbjorg stable.

"How did this happen?" Skurge asked as he harnessed the horses.

"Hela," Fandral said darkly, "That evil witch. She stabbed him just for _not kneeling."_

"And me with my bad knee. How was I to rise if I knelt on those steps?" Volstagg piped. Lady Sif made a shush-ing gesture at him.

"Best watch how you speak of her," Loki drawled from the front of the wagon.

"Who is she?" Skurge asked, forgetting his place. Of course, the trickster did owe him some answers.

"She is the firstborn of Odin, heir to the throne and commander of the legions," Loki smiled, "Didn't you hear her say so herself?"

"So it's true then?" Fandral asked, "I'd assumed she was just some Norn witch or something."

"Thor opened the Bifrost for her. Why would you think she's a Norn witch?"

"We have never heard tell of any Odinsdottyr," Lady Sif said, "Thor is the heir to Asgard's throne, not this – pretender."

"She is no pretender," Loki said, a hint of exasperation in his voice, "As I have told you, she _is_ the firstborn of Odin."

"And I suppose you would be the expert on pretenders," Lady Sif said sharply.

Loki turned to look at her. He held her gaze until she looked away. Skurge was amazed. "I _am_ the expert," Loki said quietly but forcefully, "The expert on Odin's _lies_ and _secrets._ And I for one am _glad_ that they're _finally_ seeing the light of day."


	13. Trickster

Skurge helped Fandral haul Volstagg down from the wagon and into the Halls of Healing. Sif stayed behind, keeping an iron grip on Loki's upper arm. It was getting rather painful now.

"Alone at last," he said familiarly. She glared at him. He flashed his teeth in a smile he knew would irritate her. It worked. "Keep your forked tongue to yourself, Loki. I have no need of it," she snapped, looking away.

"Oh, I wasn't offering you my tongue, Sif. Not yet, at the least."

The iron grip turned to steel and Loki couldn't help but wince. "You know," he said shortly, "I _am_ still Allfather."

Sif chuckled. It was a dry, humorless sound. "Even you cannot be so arrogant as to think that you have a shot at the throne anymore."

"Oh, but I _do_. See, if an Odinsdottyr can appear out of nowhere and lay claim to it, what's to keep me from it? Let us not forget that out of the three contenders, I am the only one who has actually ruled Asgard for four of Midgard's years."

"A blink of an eye for Asgard."

"More than can be said for Thor, and certainly more than can be said for our eldest sibling," Loki continued. "Who _is_ this woman, anyway? I've never heard of her. Is it a coincidence that her name sounds so much like _Hel_?"

Sif turned to look at him suspiciously. "Weren't you the one who was defending her claim on the ride here?"

"And I shall do it again, should the need arise," Loki flashed his most irksome smile again. To Sif's credit, she didn't look away this time. "Still, I see no need for such subtleties with you. Clearly, you are on Thor's side, but we are still friends, you and I."

" _That_ we are not, trickster. Not after all that you have done."

"Oh, come on. We were friends only a blink of an eye ago, were we not?"

Sif rolled her eyes. Loki smiled just in time to catch her looking at him. This time she did look away. Loki grinned for real. "How was life out of the Nine Realms?"

"You mean, life in exile?" Sif was not impressed, evidently. Loki wondered whether she even realized the difference between his real smile and the ones he faked. _Probably not._ "The universe beyond the Nine Realms is savage and chaotic. The only rule they know is the rule of the sword," Sif said grimly.

"Good, then, that you have such a _magnificent_ sword," Loki said, "Surely you are now _Queen_ Sif?"

"First you try to kill me, then you mock me?"

" _kill you?_ " Loki put on his best indignant face, "I had the _utmost_ faith in you, my lady. But prudence advised that I keep you away, lest you should look too close upon my wounded heart."

" _Wounded heart?_ " this time she chuckled for real. It was a pleasant sound, made all the better by its brevity. "Spare me, Loki. You may think you have a silver tongue, but it is your heart that is forged of base metals."

"You wound me further, my lady Sif," Loki folded his hands above his heart. "Tell it true, Sif, did you not enjoy your brief exile? A life outside of the bindings of Asgardian society? An adventure where you did not have to struggle against the invisible weight of Asgard's stigma?"

Sif eyed him like a shadowcat looking for the hidden noose under a tasty morsel. Finally, she relented. "I will admit, I found a new strength in exile. I did good. I made friends," she was half-smiling for a moment, there, but then it vanished. "But I'll not thank you for it, if that is what you think."

"Oh, there is no need for that. I only wanted you to have a chance. A chance to test yourself, to prove your mettle, to shine outside of the shadow of Thor."

Sif's face darkened. Her grip, which had relaxed somewhat in the midst of their banter, tightened again and she dragged him across the plaza. Loki followed reluctantly, trying to ascertain whether it was his mention of Thor or the sudden appearance of Hogun the Grim that had brought on this behavior.

"Lady Sif," Hogun said when he stepped in front of him, his syllables marred with a thick Vanir accent. Loki had often wondered whether Hogun did not always speak in his native Vanir tongue. It was hard to tell, since Loki was fluent in the All-tongue, and no tongue sounded foreign to his ears. After all, how could he have maintained such a thick accent despite only visiting his homeworld once every few decades or so?

"Captain," Loki said pointedly. Hogun paid him no heed. "The prince and the… princess have gone up to the Palace already," he continued, addressing only Sif as though Loki did not even exist, "He ordered me to secure the premises and disperse the crowd."

"Good luck with that," Loki mused, looking at the press within the Plaza of Valor and beyond. And then, seeing the ranks of the einherjar arrayed at the gates of the Palace, he added, "You know, I _could_ help you with the crowd."

"What do you mean?" Sif asked, a suspicious edge to her voice.

Loki raised his hands in solicitation. Sif looked at Hogun, who looked at Loki, then nodded imperceptibly. Sif released her hold on Loki's arm and took a step back.

Loki rubbed his arm as he surveyed the plaza. He knew its layout like the back of his hand, but the crowd milling about restlessly in search of answers and assurances rendered the flow of magic around it stubborn and chaotic. Drawing a deep breath, Loki channeled his thoughts across the plaza. Hogun and Sif watched intently as half a dozen simulacra of Loki appeared throughout the plaza, dressed in full, royal regalia. The crowd gasped and rearranged itself to accommodate the spectres.

" _People of Asgard,"_ the simulacra spoke with Loki's voice, magnified to rise above the din of the crowd, _"I am Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard and formerly Jarl of Games."_

" _Traitor!"_ someone yelled. Angry voices shouted their agreement. " _Usurper!_ " they cried.

"Oh, you are handling the crowd splendidly," Hogun quipped.

" _Heed me, loyal subjects of Odin,"_ the simulacra continued, _"It is true that I had deceived you in the guise of my father. But I meant no harm to Odin Allfather. My father was bereaved and left the Realms to find solace for the loss of his wife, my mother, your queen,_ Frigga Njordsdottyr. _With my brother gone, I did what I had to to maintain peace and order."_

The crowd jeered loudly. " _And now you wish to be king again, is that it?" "Usurper! Liar!" "We will never take you for our king!" "Down with the traitor and his lies!"_ Loki stared in despair. Sif smirked. "Had enough?" she asked sweetly.

Loki shot her a scathing glance and continued, _"I no longer desire the throne. My brother, Prince Thor, has seen fit to return from his self-imposed exile, now that our father, Odin Allfather, is no more."_ Sif frowned at the last statement, but Loki continued, _"Our eldest sibling, Hela Odinsdottyr, has also returned. Even now, they are discussing the future of Asgard within the walls of the Palace and will soon announce Hela's ascent. I wish only to serve my rightful queen to the best of my abilities."_

The crowd roared, but now they were more confused than angry. There were still shouts of " _Liar!"_ and _"Trickster!",_ but many of them had seen Thor and Hela pass through the plaza and could not deny the truth of Loki's words. "Do not take it upon yourself to declare a new queen!" Sif warned, grabbing for Loki's arm again. Her fingers passed right through him.

"No," she whispered. He turned to wink and smile at her, before dissolving into nothingness.

" _In this time of crisis, we must stand together. I urge you to support my sister as she takes on the heaviest of all burdens – the weight of the crown."_

Hogun immediately called for the guards to secure the Palace gates. " _Stop Loki!"_ he yelled.

The crowd roared again, but this time their anger was directed at Hogun's poorly worded command and the dumbfounded einherjar. They pushed against the shield walls of the einherjar and some of them made as if to strike at Hogun. Sif drew her sword and those brave souls suddenly found the wisdom to live to fight another day. " _Long live Hela Odinsdottyr! May she reign forever!"_

The simulacra collapsed and the crowd's roar rose to new heights. _Hogun should be able to handle them_ splendidly _now,_ Loki thought to himself as he climbed up the stairs to the Palace proper, dropping his glamour of einherjar armour and cloak. _Time to go see the queen._


	14. Sibling Rivalry

Asgard was far larger than Hela remembered. She could hardly even see the peaks of Valhalla until she was well out of sight of the bifrost. And then it seemed to rise forever, tower after tower appearing until Hela and her brother approached the so-called Plaza of Valor. Hela counted 18 towers in total.

The Plazas of Valor, Honor and Triumph were all ringed with towers of their own. They blended seamlessly into the architecture, yet all were manned and boasted menacing ballistae. Armed skiffs patrolled overhead. Clearly, none were meant to pass without Odin's sufferance.

 _Well, I'm here now, old man._

The crowd parted respectfully before Thor, but most spared no second glance for Hela. Those that did, though, quickly backed away. Hela didn't know whether she should feel insulted or amused. _Perhaps it's the red cape._ She noted that no one in the crowd wore anything of the shade that Thor so brazenly displayed. _The colour of fresh blood._

The plaza of Triumph was deserted, but the siblings were greeted at the palace gate by a large contingent of gold-plated guards and a tall, reedy elf with pale gold hair. He was dressed in the fashion of Alfar nobility, yet stood as though he was in charge.

"Asgard welcomes you _both_ , Thor _Odinson_ and Hela _Odinsdottyr_. It has been a _long_ time," the elf spoke in the flowery tones of Alfheim. Hela instantly disliked him. _How did he know of our coming?_ Hela had not seen any messengers riding ahead of them.

"And you are?" Thor asked. He sounded vaguely irritated. _So he is not as much in charge as he pretends._

"Oh, _forgive_ me. How very _discourteous_ of me. I had _forgotten_ how _long_ you have been _away_ from us," the elf bowed to the waist, then rose with his hand on his chest. "I have the _honour_ of being Almynd Milkvein, _First Minister_ to the _All-father,_ and _Regent_ of the Nine Realms in his absence."

"Regent of _Loki,_ " Thor was far from pleased by Milkvein's introduction. "You are dismissed, _Minister._ " He nodded to the guards and added, "But I should like you to deliver a message to Queen Aelsa. She and her court are cordially invited to the funeral of Odin All-father, to be held upon the next turn." If Milkvein was surprised to hear of Odin's death, he betrayed no more than a slight widening of the eyes. "You may leave on the morrow," Thor continued, "But the bifrost shall remain closed today."

 _Enough of this._ Hela stepped forward, edging Thor aside. She drew herself up to her full height, looking Milkvein in the eye despite standing on a lower step. "Odin's funeral shall be preceded by _my_ coronation," she declared loudly, "You may _stay_ for that. _Then_ you may inform Queen Aelsa of the elves that no _elfqueen_ is expected at the _Allfather's_ funeral."

Milkvein remained composed, his face a studied mask of indifference. But Thor grabbed Hela by the wrist. "What madness is this?" he demanded in a low voice, "Queen Aelsa and her Alfar have always been our truest friends!"

Hela couldn't help but laugh at _that. Friends_ with _elves?!_ "I don't know what fantasy you've been living, brother, but the elves would slit our throats as easily as they mix sugar in their tea, and do it as copiously," turning away from her stunned brother, she addressed the guards, "And you, brave sons of Asgard, do you _serve_ this chalk-skinned _conjurer?_ Did your king truly lift this _charlatan_ to such a high rank? Or was it _Loki,_ my _youngest_ brother, who committed this _atrocity?_ "

The guards looked at each other uneasily. Milkvein seemed to have sensed his danger at last. He bowed deeply once more, then, head still bowed, he spoke: "I shall inform Queen Aelsa of these… _renewed_ policies. But for now, I _beg_ your leave to _retire_ to my _quarters_ and _arrange_ my departure."

"I think _not,_ " Hela said harshly. "Einherjar, show _Milkvein_ to his _new_ quarters." Seeing the confusion on the guards' faces, she added, "In the _dungeons._ "

For the longest moment, they hesitated. Hela curled her fingers, ready to stab the nearest one. Finally, one of them stepped toward Milkvein, his every move dripping with uncertainty.

Just then, a hammer descended upon the steps between Hela and Milkvein, the marble cracking under its weight. "Hela," Thor called out, "If you would be queen, perhaps you should start by picking up the hammer of kings."

Hela looked at the hammer distrustfully. "I wielded Mjolnir once," she said, "I prefer something sharper."

"It is a weapon fit for a king," Milkvein quipped. Hela drew a curved knife and raised it threateningly, but then she noted the apprehension in the guards' eyes. They all looked to Thor and Mjolnir, and their hands jumped to their weapons faster when it was Thor doing the commanding. It seemed the hammer had become a royal symbol. "Very well, then," she released the knife. "Perhaps you shouldn't have surrendered such a treasure so easily," she smirked at Thor, curling her fingers around the handle. The leather was worn and supple, and she could feel Odin's magic flowing through it. _A weapon fit for a king._

"Pick it up and you are my queen," Thor said as Hela pulled on the handle. The hammer was heavier than she expected. _Strange. Thor had not seemed so strong on Midgard._ She pulled again. The hammer seemed to be stuck to the ground. "Lift it and you shall rule Asgard," Thor said again, clearly enjoying himself. Hela could sense her dignity draining away with each moment, so she whipped around to face him. "What trickery is this?" she demanded, "You dare to make a fool of me?"

Calmly, Thor raised his right hand and the hammer – _that accursed hammer_ – flew straight into his grip.

"A rigged toy. I had not taken you for a sorcerer."

"The enchantment is Odin's very own," Thor said solemnly, then intoned, as if reciting from memory: " _Whosoever possesses this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor._ Mjolnir has judged you unworthy," he declared, pointing the hammer at Hela.

"A weapon judging a queen?" Hela looked around, expecting laughter, but found only stern, disapproving faces. She sensed that she had lost the initiative, and her smile curdled on her lips. A warning sounded in her mind, urging patience and caution. _But I cannot allow anyone to look at me like that again._ Furious, she drew two massive swords and flung them at both sides, expecting to slice cleanly through two of the einherjar. But Mjolnir flew like a silver blur, deflecting both in one instant. Out of the corner of her eye, Hela saw Thor lunging up the stairs. In a blind rage, she whirled and stabbed him, driving two needle-thin blades right through him.

As Thor collapsed, Mjolnir crashed on the stairs, throwing bits of marble into the air. Hela turned to look at it but found only a dazzling shower of sparks. Before she knew what was happening, Hela was drawn into a kaleidoscope of brilliant patterns, shifting and morphing anytime she tried to focus on one. _Elf magic,_ she thought to herself, yet she was helpless to escape, as she could not even feel her own limbs.

Milkvein redoubled his effort as he struggled to contain Hela's mind even as her body slid down the stairs. "Confine her!" he gasped, and the einherjar rushed to obey. Hopefully Asgardian chains would hold her long enough to secure her in a cell, but he daren't let her regain control of her body till then. "Help the prince!" he said, though Thor was already getting to his feet, his hands bloody.

"Tell Hogun to secure the gates," he muttered to one of the guards as they rushed him into the palace. It seemed everyone had forgotten that both royal siblings had revoked Milkvein's privileges before the fight broke out. _I'll count this day as a success, then._ Milkvein's smile never showed on his face.

 ** _Thanks for all the reviews! It's been a long time since my last update and I fear some change in style, but I think the story's going in a direction I like. Thanks for sticking around!_**


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